With a muted flash of light, they were far, far away from all of the madness, leaving the cold grey despair of Malfoy Manor behind them. Antonin stumbled slightly, blinking from the shock of the brightness inside the townhouse on his tired eyes. When they adjusted, he was once again reminded of the horror that was in front of him. Hermione's small form was still laying on the floor, exactly how she had been when the apparated, except now, instead of the frigid, stained, stone slates, there was lush carpet at her back.

What with trying to comprehend that she was alive, and attempting to persuade the Lestranges to let them go, there had been no time to move her. Antonin automatically dropped to his knees, moving his arms as if to lift her, but his action was stopped by Luna, who once again, placed her hand on top of his arm. "No, levitate her," she commanded, quietly but firmly.

Antonin's first instinct was to protest; he wanted nothing more than to hold Hermione, to reassure himself that she was there, alive, that her heart was beating, and that she was breathing. That she would be okay.

"It could do more damage than good," the delicate blonde continued, and Antonin sagged, waiting just a fraction of a second before capitulating. He obviously didn't want to hurt Hermione, she had already suffered far more than she should ever had, but he couldn't help resenting Luna taking charge. Though he allowed it, Antonin knew his head wasn't in the right place to be of much assistance. His heightened emotions would take time to dissipate. His stints in Azkaban made it more difficult, he sometimes found it hard to establish reality and rational responses to normal situations, let alone what had happened earlier.

So instead of clutching at Hermione, as Antonin wished, he followed Luna and Yaxley through the halls silently, using the time to order his jumbled thoughts. Until the master of the house suggested a bedroom in the family wing, Antonin knew he should probably graciously accept, but he couldn't, only one room would do, especially now. Accurately interpreting his hesitancy at the threshold of the bedroom without words, Yaxley nodded before leading the way to Antonin's room. The room he had occupied on every stay since he was eleven.

When they made it into the neat and airy space, Reuben promptly disappeared to fetch the elves, and Antonin carefully finished levitating Hermione to the bed, laying her broken body on top of the pristine white comforter. He winced as blood immediately began to seep into the soft fabric, as the soft red trickle flowed from her, Antonin began to comprehend just how much of it covered her, the sight of it, the smell, everything was an attack to his senses. He was a wizard that had seen a lot of blood in his lifetime, probably a damned sight more than the average person, and he could honestly say that it had never bothered him, even in large quantities, until this very moment. It was almost like he was seeing it for the very first time. It looked so harsh against Hermione's skin, even the simple act of glancing at her caused him pain, but he couldn't look away, just like at the manor. The more Antonin looked, the more he noticed; before he could only see the overall picture, now he saw all of the fragments that made it up. Like how some of the blood had congealed, some had even dried, her body was covered in a spectrum of varying shades of red.

How long had she been there?

As Antonin was stuck in his silent, unpleasant, reverie Luna ducked past him and sought out the bathroom, re-emerging with an armful of towels, some of which she had dampened, and she began cleaning the worst of the blood that was spattered over Hermione's face.

Reuben stalked back into the room, and Antonin observed the grim line of his face, his eyes like stone. "The elves are coming up," he said, his voice cold and detached, "they are just grabbing some supplies."

Yaxley approached the bed and in his clasped hand was a wand Antonin did not recognise, he proffered it to Luna, and she took it from him without comment and immediately began waving it over Hermione in rhythmic movements.

Reuben's eyes raked over Hermione, cataloguing her injuries in much the same way Antonin had just done, before he abruptly stopped, the movement did not jar Antonin, he knew exactly what his friend had seen. Reuben must not have made out the letters while they were still in that damned room. The jagged violent cuts on her arm were hideous, but the thought that her skin has been branded was far more repellent.

Eyes sore, Antonin looked back at the little Ravenclaw, Luna appeared completely unfazed by the situation, and apart from tucking her hair behind her ears every so often she did nothing but continue to wave the borrowed wand, the movement accompanied every couple of passes, by muttered incantations.

Seconds later three house elves popped into the room, weighed down with various potions in bottles of different shapes and sizes. They made their way over to Luna, clearly identifying her as being in charge of Hermione's care, and began depositing their gathered supplies.

As time moved forward, traitorously slowly, the elves and Luna seemed to be able to communicate without speaking. They took turns in either proffering the bottles to the blonde, or putting them in order on the sideboard. After every gulp of potion had been poured into Hermione's throat, Luna massaged her neck, tenderly, forcing the liquid to pass down, while the prone girl couldn't do it for herself. The process was arduous, and by the time the sixth, successive potion bottle was empty, and no change had occurred with the little witch on the bed Antonin could feel his control beginning to fray. He lamented that he would have no outlet for his anger now. Bellatrix was dead, very, very dead. It had been far too quick.

Impervious to his distress the group of elves began busying themselves, washing Hermione down, pushing Antonin further back from his firm stance at the foot of the bed with each pass they made into the bathroom, to his growing displeasure. Once they had finished, the smallest one pulled on Luna's sleeve, and they had a quick conversation before the blonde turned to face him and Yaxley.

"Turn around, they want to change her clothes," she muttered, and Antonin could hear the tiredness she was fighting in her voice, but it was undercut with a steely resolve that irked him.

He raised an eyebrow at her incredulously, and in return Luna crossed her arms over her chest. "You will not order me to do anything girl," he bit out.

Her eyes betrayed nothing. "Is this how you want to see her?" The question floated across the room at him, flooring Antonin to the point where he almost missed her continuing, "for the first time?"

He let the words wash over him until he could discern her meaning, how did she know he hadn't seen her before? How did she know he wanted to? With a reluctant sigh, Antonin turned around, before whacking Reuben on the shoulder till he did the same.

"Should you not clean her up a bit more before changing her?" he called over his shoulder, as an elf walked passed, carrying what was once a soft green towel, Antonin baulked at its current hue.

"No," Luna replied, and he heard the movement of cotton as she got to work, "we need to settle her condition first," Luna replied, and he found that rather than anger him, this time her certainty soothed him a little.

After five minutes of staring impatiently at the wall, Antonin could no longer wait to be asked to turn back around and simply did it. Luna was running a series of charms over Hermione's chest, while one of the elves was tending to her legs, applying cream to her calves.

Antonin attempted to get closer to the bed numerous times over the next half an hour, eliciting increasingly vicious responses from the assembled house elves until eventually, Yaxley manhandled him into a chair in the far corner of the room. Once he had pushed him down his friend instructed his elves that they were allowed to use force, if necessary, to keep him out of the way.

Antonin glared at him until Reuben sighed, kneeling down in front of him and placing both hands on his face. The gesture immediately reminiscent of when they had seen each other for the first time in fourteen years, after being broken out of Azkaban, no doubt Yax had done it deliberately, to help cut through some of his anxiety.

"Antonin, listen to me," Reuben began harshly, "I have to go back to the Ministry now, I cannot be gone for too long," Antonin nodded. "You have to leave them to work, please do not hex the elves or the girl in my absence. They are trying to help."

Antonin watched as Yaxley rose up to leave the room, and resolved to at least attempt not to be a hindrance.

A few hours later the activity in the bedroom had calmed considerably. The elves had largely vacated their vigil, instead coming into the room periodically, bringing in potions for Hermione and food for himself and Luna. After the first couple of visits they stopped trying to get either one of them to eat. Luna didn't stop, didn't even seem to pause for more than a few seconds, her wand waved in repeated strokes, seemingly without tiring. Antonin was unfamiliar with a lot of the spells she used; he had been attempting to track what she cast in case he had to take over at any point, and to keep his mind occupied on something other than the unresponsive witch in the bed. Apart from the on-the-hour Diagnostic Charm she performed, he knew none of them.

Sometime during the night, Luna must have spotted his inquiring eyes, and after completing yet another unknown healing charm, in an unknown tongue, she turned to regard him. "My mother was good at healing magic," she said, in partial explanation.

Antonin recognised from her tone that she had divulged as much as she was willing to give on the subject, and he respected her desire not to speak of her late mother. He wouldn't have exactly been thrilled with the idea of discussing his parents with a relative stranger, nor did he wish her to become aware of just how much he already knew. Her file had been made available since his prison escape after all.

"How is she?" he ventured moments later, he hadn't dared ask the question since they got back, not willing to admit, even to himself, how terrified he was of the answer. Hermione still hadn't moved, she was so heartbreakingly still. Antonin's mind drifted to darkness as Luna formulated her answer, and his hand gripped the edge or the chair.

He remembered a night in the sixth year, when himself and Reuben had gotten completely drunk on some cheap firewhisky they had confiscated from a couple of resourceful fourth years. It had been late in the evening when the laughter the drink had induced passed. They were too young to understand the malaise that too much alcohol brought on, but he understood it now. Yaxley had told him about finding his brother, dead and lifeless, and how he had shaken his little body, screaming at him to move, eventually having to be prized off Sebastian's cold form by the house elves. For the first time since that evening, Antonin thought he might understand the type of anguish his friend had described.

Hermione's lack of response was shredding his sanity; he had lived his whole life in a world where the words people spoke meant nothing, actions meant everything, he wouldn't believe she was better until he saw it. Though he asked the empty question anyway, by this point he was desperate for any balm that would get him through the next few hours.

Luna turned to face him, darkening circles appearing under her eyes. "She is a while away from being fine, but the diagnostics are improving."

When the room became silent again Antonin found it was too oppressive, his thoughts were not a suitable distraction anymore, even running through the list of people that had put her there, in that bed, and what he would do to them, was no longer soothing.

"Why haven't you asked about bringing her here?" Antonin began, and Luna gazed vacantly at him, he continued, "Why trust us?"

Luna looked at Hermione, and Antonin would have thought she was attempting to ignore him, but from a quick glimpse of her profile, she seemed to be considering her response. "She talked about you," she divulged quietly, "after the Department of Mysteries." Luna reached forward and ran her fingers over Hermione's palm affectionately.

"I'm sure the account was far from favourable," Antonin huffed, remembering the fire in her eyes as he tried to explain himself on the dirty cafe floor.

"Not really," Luna replied with a smile in her voice, as she tucked a stray curl behind Hermione's ear. "You became a puzzle to her, I think, you got stuck in her mind. She never has liked not knowing something."

Antonin considered Luna's answer; he hadn't dared to hope that Hermione had any such fixation on him, until the chance encounter at Grimmauld, when he had seen the photo. She must have had it from long before they went on the run, why had he never realised that before?

"Still, it doesn't explain why you went with us, why you insisted we take you. Why not Potter and Weasley?" Antonin pressed firmly. Not that he was complaining, he had let Hermione go three times already, and each and every time she had come back worse. There was no way he would have let it happen again, Luna's compliance had made life easier, but not understanding someone's motives had never sat well with him.

"Harry is fighting a war, from the front, and while he loves her-" Antonin couldn't help the reflex grunt he made at the seemingly casual reference, but Luna either didn't notice or didn't react, "-he wouldn't have understood how bad it was, how much this will affect her. Antonin, they care about Hermione deeply, but they also need her to help them win. She would have been dragged into something straight after, and she would have gotten hurt again. I wasn't prepared to let that happen."

"And so you believed two Death Eaters were the better option?" he asked sceptically.

Luna rested the borrowed wand on the end of the bed, and collapsed into the chair behind it, her eyes far away. "I couldn't have mistaken the look on your face Antonin, even if I knew nothing before that, I would have known you cared," she sighed, massaging her fingers. "Hermione has an innate need to take care of everyone around her; I think you would be... a useful ally, in keeping her safe."

Antonin nodded, allies it was then, the war made strange bedfellows after all, and he had made agreements with people he hated far more, for far more spurious reasons.

Antonin had no idea what time it was anymore, though given the light creeping in through the windows it must have been the early hours of the morning. Yaxley still hadn't returned, though that was not uncommon, theirs was not the type of job that kept regular hours. He was still sat in the corner of the room, but his tired eyes were focused on nothing. He realised he must have fallen asleep when he felt himself being roughly shaken awake.

"Wha… What is it?" Antonin murmured groggily, moving his aching jaw, he stood quickly, war honed reflexes preparing him for a potential fight.

When his eyes adjusted he could make out Luna stood in front of him, her face was drawn into a broad smile, her apparent contentment juxtaposed by the tears streaming from her eyes. "She's going to be ok," she said, her throat choked.

"How can you be sure?" Antonin questioned, not yet daring to hope.

"Her aura has shifted," she explained as if that was definitive, and Antonin frowned at her. As with the night before she didn't seem at all perturbed by his severity, and rolled her eyes at him, mumbling something that sounded a lot like 'perfect for each other'. She led him over to her bed and cast a Diagnostic Charm over Hermione, leaving various brightly coloured health indicators illuminating the air between them. Antonin felt his shoulders slightly relax as he studied the glistening information. He might not have known a lot about magic of this kind, but he could interpret the information easily enough, there was no long-term internal damage. He let go of a raspy breath, he wouldn't be okay, not until she was sitting up talking to him, but it was better.

"See," Luna said impatiently, waving her hands at the floating letters, "this shows she is stable."

Antonin walked forward, getting closer to the bed than he had been allowed for the last however many hours to take a better look. Hermione certainly looked more like herself now; it was unbelievable the improvement that could be seen once they had cleaned her up a bit, and put her in a loose fitting shirt of his. He felt a strange emotion at seeing her in his clothes; this was not the way he would have wanted it, though.

Many of the cuts that littered her body were now healing, but there were various marks, including the one on her arm, that still looked fresh, still appearing wet, and in places oozing as if she had already contracted an infection.

"The blade, it was dark….cursed," Luna supplied, as she followed his gaze. "I think it will scar, permanently. Not all of them were like that, but the one on her arm," her breath hitched and he turned to look at her. "She… she hated the writing on her hand, I don't know how she will bear that... mark," Luna finished, her voice trailing off to a whisper at the end.

Feeling incredibly awkward Antonin extended his arm and pulled the tiny Ravenclaw into his side. "She's alive, everything else will come in time," he tried for a soothing tone, but looking at the marks and knowing now it would be permanent he wasn't sure how much faith he had in his words. After standing there for a few minutes Luna said she wanted to bath Hermione, properly now her condition was stabilised, and too tired for another argument Antonin reluctantly left the room.

As Antonin stalked into the imposing study his harsh opening of the heavy door interrupted a drawn looking Rueben from his quiet nursing of coffee. He clearly hadn't had much more sleep than Antonin, judging from the prominent dark circles under his eyes, and the tell-tale stubble around his jaw. They were both far too old for this, though Antonin thought it was best not to say so out loud, for fear of something being launched at his head.

"Is she?" Yaxley began, as Antonin collapsed into the chair opposite him.

"She's not come around yet, but her condition is no longer getting worse," Antonin explained, pouring himself his own coffee, wishing it were something stronger. Reuben exhaled a sharp breath his eyes lightening. "Luna wants to wash her," Antonin continued, unsure of how the little Ravenclaw would achieve such a thing on her own.

"Dixie," Reuben called, and a small elf appeared, seemingly the only member of the household that could hold up under the lack of sleep, if her bright eyes were any indication. "Please go up to help Miss Lovegood," Reuben instructed, and the tiny elf disappeared with a pop. "And you?" Reuben said, turning to regard him, taking in his crumpled form and bloodshot eyes.

"I'm ok," Antonin replied with a sigh, taking a large swig from his mug.

Yaxley scoffed, "You need some sleep."

"So do you," he countered peevishly. "How were things at the Ministry?" he asked, endeavouring to change the subject.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," Yaxley retorted with a dismissive wave of his hand, before setting his mug down and staring at Antonin intently. "We need to send word to Rodolphus."

Antonin rubbed a hand over his face, not the change of subject he had hoped for. "We do," he conceded, though the words felt like they lacerated his throat as he uttered them. He didn't want him here, didn't want anyone else here.

"He killed her Antonin," Reuben pressed, and Antonin nodded, he was well aware of what had happened. Reuben continued ignoring his friends growing irritation, "There are only so many reasons for that, one of which, I'm assuming we can rule out immediately, since she is in your bed upstairs."

"She is not his witch Yax," Antonin spat darkly, incensed by the very thought.

"Maybe not in that way," Reuben conceded, and the air fell silent between them, the only noise, the very deliberate sips of coffee and the distant sound of elves going about their daily business.

Antonin's head throbbed, maybe it would be best to treat it like ripping off a plaster and get it all down at once? "Send him a note," he said finally, dropping the remains of his drink on the desk with a loud thunk. "I'm going back upstairs."

"Don't sulk, Antonin," Reuben scolded, deftly moving the abandoned cup to rest on a coaster, "and for the love of Merlin eat something. You'll be no good to her when she does wake up, if you're as emaciated as she is."

Unlikely, Antonin thought bitterly; she looked as if she hadn't had a proper meal in weeks. Lestrange or no Lestrange he would be making sure she was better, Luna was right, she needed people to look after her, and he was only too happy to oblige.

It would appear that as eager as Antonin was never to welcome the Lestranges to his sanctuary, they had different ideas on timing. Reuben's brief note had received a response within the hour, and their 'guests' arrived soon after. Antonin was on edge after watching Hermione all day, though she looked a little better now. Too much time in your own head he thought darkly, as he prepared to leave her side. Some of her natural colouring was returning to her cheeks, her freckles becoming more obscure after days of them jutting out of her face. Though she couldn't eat, the elves were giving her a Nourishment Potion that was helping sweep away her gauntness. She will recover, he told himself again, repeating his new mantra as he closed the door securely behind him.

Antonin had eventually managed some sleep in a guest bedroom that afternoon, but his slumber had been light and easily disturbed. As a result, he wasn't feeling particularly rested. He could have done without this meeting. He was still fighting down the desire to break, crush or kill something following the hour in the manor. He was sure at least one, maybe even both of the Lestrange brothers, would do something to push him, which would obviously do nothing to quell his simmering rage.

Antonin walked into the main reception room of the townhouse, and as planned he was the last to arrive. Both the remaining Lestranges were stood in front of Yaxley, though Dolph, in particular, looked like he should have sat down. Antonin approached them slowly, taking in what he could from their appearance, and the ambience in the room, before he spoke. They had apparently just come from a summons, and it must have been relatively private, as neither he nor Yaxley had been called. The brothers were still wearing their distinctive robes, and Rab was gripping his mask in his hand, never one for subtlety. It was apparent that their Lord had not taken the news of Bella's demise at all well, Antonin noticed Rabastan's hands shake as they both relayed what had been said.

After clearing up the mess, they had resolved to claim Potter had killed Bella, with a lucky shot once the chandelier had come down. They hadn't mentioned that Antonin or Reuben were even there, obliviating the Malfoys to cover their tracks, neither had trusted them enough to attempt to coerce them into an agreement. Supposedly when they had corned Draco, he had repeatedly requested they remove the memory of Hermione's torture, in particular, the moment in which she had looked at him, Rabastan had apparently refused, vehemently if the flash in his eyes was any indication. They had decided to tell the Dark Lord that Hermione was dead, having been killed by Bella, and that Potter had apparated away with the others, taking her body with him.

Once the emotionless retelling of the evening had concluded, the room became uncomfortably tense with the weight of what was not being said. The atmosphere reminded Antonin of going to see Snape that first time at Hogwarts, so much distrust on both sides. Whatever else, they were bonded through this, they had all disobeyed their Lord for her.

Eventually, Yaxley insisted they all sit-down, and at the expected protests he barked 'before you fall down'. Dolph sighed before complying, with Rab finally following him, not a moment too soon it seemed. The younger man was bleeding from the mouth, and one of his eyes was already dark with bruising. Dolph was worse, he apparently didn't want to show the pain he was in, but he wasn't a young man anymore, and Antonin was confident his Lord would have given them both hell for what had transpired. However blameless their concocted version of events made them seem. They must have been convincing enough for him to buy it, they were alive after all. The older man shivered with the easily identifiable after effects of cumulative Crucios. Rodolphus had several cuts still oozing on his scalp, though whether caused by thrashing while under the Curse, or specific hexes wasn't clear.

"How is she?" Rodolphus asked finally, and Antonin clocked Reuben slightly relax, though he could see his friend's fingers splayed as if ready to grab his wand at any moment.

"She is stable," Antonin answered slowly.

"She will live?" Dolph asked, and all of the men present endeavoured to ignore the break in his voice.

"Luna believes so," he continued reluctantly, and Rabastan looked up at the mention of the other girl, Antonin's eyes narrowed at him.

"I want to see her," Rodolphus stated, apparently attempting to affect a no-nonsense tone, it didn't hold much weight in his present condition. Not that Antonin would have had any hesitation stopping him if he were fit. The older man's sense of entitlement would do him no favours here.

"Not possible," Antonin replied, crossing his arms in front of himself, adjusting his stance so he could reach the door if he needed.

"This is not your choice Dolohov, I have lied for you-"

"A lie you would not have had to tell, if you rabid wife hadn't been trying to kill her," Antonin interjected forcefully.

"She isn't awake yet," Reuben intervened calmly, his eyes falling over the impassioned occupants of the room in turn. "When she is, it will be her decision."

Antonin remained locked in a heated stare with Rodolphus before the older Lestrange reluctantly turned to acknowledge Yaxley's words, finally nodding.

The tension of the previous days, months really, threatened to spill out of Antonin, and he rounded on the seated man. "Are you going to tell us what the fuck is going on?" he spat.

"It's none of your business," Rabastan added before his brother could speak, his hands clenched on the seat of his chair.

"We will talk to her first, before we tell you anything," Dolph stated and then rose onto his feet, clearing declaring an end to the meeting.

"I want to see Luna," Rabastan said crossing his arms as if daring anyone to deny him. Unexpectedly, Antonin stifled a laugh, having seen that same defiant gesture from the little blonde the night before, it was more intimidating when she did it, though he thought he would save that observation for another time.

Reuben rolled his eyes muttering to himself, "I don't understand how I have become the appointment secretary to a couple of teenage fucking witches," he grossed, before summoning an elf, who popped up as bright and cheery as she had been that morning, paying no attention to the murderous wizards in the room, well, apart from the who she called master.

"Dixie, please collect Miss Lovegood, I believe she is still in Antonin's bedroom, tired out, poor thing," he said, sitting back into his seat with a smirk in Rabastan direction.

The younger Lestrange was almost purple by this point, the colour instantly clashing with the bruising on his face. Antonin excused himself from the combustible environment, not wanting Hermione to be alone, and not trusting that Rodolphus wouldn't take advantage and visit while they were all downstairs, it's what he would have done after all. Antonin headed back up to his room taking the stairs two at a time.

When Antonin re-entered his room, he allowed himself a moment's reverie at finding himself alone with Hermione. Her skin still looked too pale, but with all the blood gone, it didn't make him feel so desolate to look at her. He pulled the thick bed cover back slowly, to free one of her arms, the unmarked one, he didn't want to risk reopening the wounds on her... damaged one. Sitting on the side of the bed, careful not to disturb her, he clasped her tiny hand in between his; she had some warmth in her fingers now, he hadn't had the chance to feel her skin since they had come back.

It seemed so surreal to look at her there, weirder even than finding her at the manor; Antonin had fantasised about her in his bed for so long, though unsurprisingly it had never been like this. He reached forward to move a lock of hair that had fallen over her brow, moving the slightly limp curl into the pillows around her, he couldn't believe how peaceful she looked. His father had once told him that the day after he was married, as he turned to see his new wife, fast asleep in his bed, he had let out a breath he had been holding onto since the first day he had seen her. She was finally home, she was finally his.

Antonin couldn't feel that relief, not yet, though he could sense a distinct echo of that emotion, whatever the awful circumstances that had led to her being there, now she was he could permanently protect her. While no one else was present, he squeezed her hand before delicately placing her arm back under the now clean covers, and kissed her cheek.

"Good night Hermione," he whispered before dragging himself away to sit back in his temporary home, the chair in the corner.

He had only just got settled when Luna padded in, inclining her head in his direction before stepping over to 'her charge'. Antonin raked the small witch over for signs of the musing he suspected had occurred, though she looked perfectly normal apart from her eyes, they looked slightly more dazed than normal. Luna didn't say anything, Antonin was finding that she spoke as infrequently as he did, and seemed to have even less urge to fill silences. Hermione probably spoke enough for all of them, when she was speaking.

Luna walked into the bathroom, emerging moments later in some ill-fitting pyjamas, and shuffled over to the end of the bed, grabbing a blanket and lying at the bottom of Hermione's feet. He raised an eyebrow in question.

"I might roll over in the night, and not feel her move or something, this way if she wakes up so will I," she explained.

"I understand," he murmured, slightly enviously, kicking his legs out in front of him.

"It's not the first time we've slept like this," Luna murmured quietly, and for all the steadfast determination she had displayed all day, at that moment it was plain how frightened she had been.

Somehow Antonin knew what she was referring to; they must have been like that after the Department of Mysteries, after he had hurt her. "Are you going to tell me about Rabastan?" he inquired gently, trying to change the subject, so that his dreams would not be full of watching Hermione collapse after he shot the dark Curse at her.

Luna sat up a little from her position on the bed, her eyes twinkling in the limited light coming through the curtains. "Why would I tell you?" she asked with genuine puzzlement

"Hermione... when she wakes up," Antonin said, almost trying to convince himself of the words, "She will be worried."

Then "I will be sure to tell Hermione when she wakes up," Luna said challengingly, and laid back down.

Was he doomed to be surrounded by obstinate females? Life had been a lot easier when everyone was afraid of him. "He is dangerous," he asserted.

"So are you, many would say you are more so," she countered, and Antonin couldn't argue with that assessment. "But you wouldn't hurt Hermione would you?" she continued, but Antonin didn't answer. "I don't believe he would hurt me, that's all you need to know." He opened his mouth to contradict her argument, but Luna was faster, "Before you say anything, I will, of course, explain myself to Hermione, but considering we're in your room right now, I think she's got some explaining of her own to be getting on with first."

Antonin didn't reply though he vaguely thought he would either want to be a fly on the wall for that conversation, or as far away as humanly possible. Just as he began to feel the pull of sleep, he heard her muffled question.

"What did you both say to Rabastan?"

"Ask Yaxley," he replied dryly.

"Oh Merlin," Luna whispered, and he huffed out a small laugh before falling asleep.

The third day of watching over a lifeless Hermione began, and Antonin could feel himself getting restless, he had thus far been able to keep the darkness, that so often clouded him, pushed to the corners of his mind, but her lack of reaction was threatening to undo him. He even longed to be called to his Lord's side, he didn't want to leave her, but he thought he might feel saner after working out some stress.

Azkaban had left shadows on his psyche, some that had been immediately apparent and others that were revealing themselves over time. Rationally Antonin knew that she wasn't dead, he could see her breathe if he looked hard enough, and holding her hand, albeit briefly had helped. Her stillness and closed eyes were increasing the volume of the constant whispers of his mind, nagging voices that insisted she would never wake up.

The result was him hovering behind Luna every waking second, snapping at her constantly as if it was her fault. Antonin knew if Hermione were awake she would have chastised him; he wondered if that was part of why he was doing it, trying to trick her into a reaction. The tiny blonde ignored him, and despite his grossing, she didn't leave Hermione's room for anything, the elves fetched her food, and they brought more potions for Hermione.

Antonin should have been livid; it didn't sit well with him to be cast aside while someone else tended to his witch. But with Luna, he found he could stand it, mainly as he was not sure, with the frustration still coursing through his blood, that he could have been half as gentle as she was.

At about midday, Reuben came in to drag him out of the room, as he had it on good authority that if he didn't remove Antonin from the house, and more particularly from Luna's immediate orbit, the elves would kill him. He took Antonin to the Ministry, to 'help out' as he put it, and despite a few weak protests Antonin went, deep down knowing he needed the distraction. He hadn't been summoned for a few days which was atypical, but he assumed his Lord was too busy getting over the loss of Bella to assign ridiculous missions.

After a gruelling afternoon, assisting Yaxley with shovelling the shit that came with life in politics, even if that political structure was an oppressive dictatorship, Antonin made it back to the townhouse, regretful of his earlier desires to 'do anything' to relieve the stress. Even sitting by Hermione's bedside, slowly going mad with grief, was better than a day in government, he didn't know how Yax could stand it. After making his way to a guest room to shower, scowling at any of the smug looking elves that crossed his path, he entered his room, and collapsed into the all too familiar chair for some sleep.

In the very early hours of the morning, Antonin was awoken by shouting followed by a tiny body dragging him from the chair. "She's awake!" Luna's voice pierced the silence of the room. At the proclamation Antonin was instantly alert, his eyes seeking his witch out. When he turned towards the bed he was rewarded with the sight of her beautiful brown eyes, wide and regarding him, they were open and alert, not unseeing, not dead, he moved towards her almost unconsciously.

"Luna," Hermione rasped out, her voice scratchy with ill use, Antonin realised he was blocking her view of the blonde, now hidden behind him, and he moved to the side slightly so Hermione could see her friend, the Ravenclaw bounded forward.

"I'm here, I'm here," she said soothingly.

"Everyone," Hermione croaked, her eyes searching around them.

"Everyone is ok, you're safe, Hermione you're safe," Luna said, reaching forward to grab both Hermione's hands in hers.

Tears started welling in his witch's eyes, "I'm so sorry... Luna, I wanted to hold on…. to try and help you, but the pain… the pain was just too much," she faltering said.

"Shh shh," Luna consoled, sitting closer on the bed, and Hermione sobbed.

Not able to take much more separation Antonin laid a hand on Luna's shoulder, a moment later she turned and whatever she saw in his face must have been enough.

"Hermione, I'm just going to give you a minute," Luna whispered and exited the room without looking back.

Hermione's huge eyes fell on him, and she was quiet a beat before she spoke, "You came," she said in a choked, awed voice that nearly broke him all over again. Feeling too overwhelmed to push past the lump in his throat Antonin jumped onto the bed next to her, trying to be mindful that she was still delicate, though probably not as careful as he should have been in his haste. He pulled her body towards him, with the covers between them, fitting himself against her side.

When he felt her shoulders relax he dropped kisses on her brow, "You're alive," he breathed into her hair.

"Are you sure?" she wheezed with a distinct lack of humour in her voice.

"Yes, very, very sure," Antonin replied, holding her tighter.

"Where am I?" she asked, burrowing her face into his shoulder and Antonin closed his eyes as he felt her breath against his neck.

"Reuben's house," he replied, feeling her heartbeat thudding against his chest through the slim pyjamas she was wearing.

"Where is-"

"In a minute," he implored, "I will explain everything, but let's just be for a little while, ok?"

"But I," she protested.

"Please, Hermione, please," Antonin entreated, putting his hands on either side of her face and drawing it up to meet his gaze. She nodded, and they laid in silence, her presence chasing away some of the dark clouds in his mind.

"Thank you, whatever you did, thank you for taking me away from there," she said.

"You're never going back Hermione, no one will hurt you, ever again," Antonin pledged.

Moments later the door opened, and Luna walked back in, she spoke to Hermione softly, not commenting at all on the Death Eater wrapped around her friend, which was a good thing, Antonin had no intention of moving.

Antonin walked down the stairs an hour or so later, finally feeling some of the dread he had been carrying with him for days lift, as if it was floating out of his very pores. He stopped into the small breakfast room, happy to acknowledge the return of his appetite, Yaxley was already there, pouring over a stack of parchments.

"She's up," Antonin announced, moving to take a seat himself.

His friend smiled, "and how is she?"

"Full of questions, so she as good as could be expected," he laughed, the sound seeming foreign to his ears.

He filled his plate before glancing back at Reuben who was eying him warily, "We need to tell Dolph," Yax said without preamble, and Antonin felt the bubble of joy in his chest dissipate.

"I know," he murmured.

"Do you?" Yax replied incredulously, "He's going to want to come over immediately."

"Tell him tomorrow," Antonin said dismissively, reaching for some more toast. He was in no mood to bow and scrape to the wants of Rodolphus Lestrange.

"He will be insistent," Reuben warned, though his tone was understanding. Antonin could only imagine what the situation would have been like if Reuben was the one chasing after Hermione, he wasn't sure he would have been as happy to invite Rodolphus back then, as he seemed to be now.

"Not as insistent as I am," Antonin said shortly, "she has just woken up, she can't face it today." She might never be able to face it, his mind whispered. He hadn't allowed himself to worry about that, but now that she was awake he would have to.

Reuben eyed him for a long while before finally agreeing, "Fine I will tell him, but don't expect him to like it."

"I couldn't care less if he likes it, he will wait his turn."